LACQUERED NIGHT

and still the demons of our pity spoke: no lips would share the lipstick of her smoke; the telephone that rang before a ball every two minutes in sorosa hall for her would never ring; and, with a great screeching of tires on gravel, to the gate out of the lacquered night, a white-scarfed beau would never come for her; she’d never go, a dream of gauze and jasmine, to that dance. — vladimir nabokov, pale fire

LACQUERED NIGHT: A BANAL NOIR (2011)

HPB VS. THE HILLS

MUSIC BY BRIAN YAZZIE